Chapter 7

~Emma~

 

“Yes. Daniel Alder. Which apartment?” I ask the security guy behind the mammoth marble-topped desk once again.

“Penthouse, Ma’am,” he answers as though it’s a stupid question and I should have known. Well, he has a point. Where else would Mister-arrogant-fucking-millionaire live? Of course, a simple apartment in this luxurious building wouldn’t be enough for him. He has to have the best one.

“Thanks,” I say, pawing at my sunglasses nervously and pulling my baseball cap down further. There are two people sitting in the lobby. I can’t let them see me. No one can see me.

“Ma’am,” the big, burly security guy calls out before I’ve made it two steps.

I spin back around, surprised and embarrassed that he’s calling out to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the two suits in the lobby look my way at the sound of the commotion. My anxiety levels skyrocket and it’s all I can do to eke out, “Yes?”

The walls are closing in.

I’m too hot.

No, I’m shivering.

My legs are turning to jelly.

I need to stop my heart from pounding. It’s too painful. Oh God, the room is spinning. I’m going to pass out.

And then I inadvertently glance at the note crumpled in my right hand. Right there, rage takes over, quickly working to push down all else. I remember my mission: to give the author of said note a piece of my mind.

“You can’t just walk on up to Mr. Alder’s apartment. It’s invitation only,” the security guy tells me.

I draw in a breath to try to compose myself. “Tell him Emma Spencer is here to see him.”

He nods and flashes me a reassuring smile. Shit, he must be able to see how out of sorts I am. If only he knew just how incredibly out of sorts I really am. I still can’t believe I’m here right now. Out in public. Away from the safe refuge of my home. Fucking Daniel.

I watch the guy pick up the phone behind his desk. I can’t hear what he’s saying. His voice is so low.

It only takes a few seconds, before he returns the phone to its cradle and tells me, “Go on up, Miss Spencer.”

I make my way over to the bay of elevators and quickly press the call button. Oddly, I barely notice the two strangers who had caused me so much anxiety just moments ago. My thoughts are consumed by what I’m about to do. I look at the note in my hand one more time and find myself growling out loud.

I’m annoyed that I had to announce my arrival. I wanted to show up at his place out of the blue, just like he’d done to me last night.

The elevator arrives and I punch the button for the penthouse level. Despite the fact that the building has twenty-five floors, the elevator arrives at the penthouse in no time.

To my surprise, the doors behind me open up. I hadn’t even realized there were doors on both sides.

I spin around and find myself in the middle of asshole’s apartment. I step out of the elevator just before the door closes on me.

I glance around. Wow. If I didn’t already know Daniel was a millionaire, this certainly brings it home. I’m in what appears to be the living room, complete with black leather couches, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, what look like marble floors, priceless artwork on the walls, a huge flat screen TV, and a bar over in the corner with liquor I’ve only ever heard about, because it’s so damn pricey. And then I catch sight of the balcony. My eyes widen in disbelief as I see the sunken swimming pool out there. The balcony seems to wrap around the entire apartment.

“Miss Spencer.”

I spin around at the sound of his rumbling baritone to find him walking towards me in nothing but a gray towel hanging low on his hips.

My God. He’s more cut than I’d even imagined. Those abs! I’ve never seen such muscle definition before. He runs his fingers through his thick head of dark hair, dispelling some of the moisture from the shower he clearly just stepped out of. My body reacts of its own accord and I have to bite my lip to distract myself from the dirty scenarios playing in my head. Shit.

Remember why you’re here.

“Asshole,” I return.

“Asshole? You wound me, angel,” he says, slapping his hand over his heart in a fake gesture of pain. “Best you can do, huh?”

Oh, you don’t want to challenge me. “Arrogant man-child. Immature, cocky bastard. Self-centered egomaniac. Domineering cocksucker.”

He blinks in surprise and lets out a low whistle. “Impressive. I especially like the cocksucker part.” He angles his head to the side. “Although, that’s not my job, babe. Feel free to give it a go, though. You can drop to your knees right there by the couch if you like,” he says, pointing to one of the two wraparound leather couches behind him. “I’d love to feel those sexy lips of yours wrapped around my cock as I fuck your sweet mouth.”

I shove my hands into his chest and he stumbles back, laughing.

Before I can fire back a retort at his disgusting comment, he gets there first.

“Christ, I’m loving that skirt on you,” he comments, gazing at my thighs. “And those boots? Mmm.”

He’s staring at my black mini skirt and my over-the-knee leather boots. I shift uncomfortably and adjust my off-the-shoulder gray sweater nervously and pull my black suede jacket closed before he makes some sort of comment about them too.

My eyes narrow. “I know what you’re doing.”

He throws me a questioning look.

“You’re trying to flirt your way out of this.”

“It was working.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

He just grins and folds his arms across his chest, giving me a fine view of those mouth-watering biceps of his. I want to scream at him to put a shirt on, but I can’t. He’ll know that him standing there in nothing but a towel is affecting me.

I wave his note in my hand at him erratically. “What the hell do you call this?”

“A note.”

“Yeah, a note. Let’s see what it says, shall we?”

He shifts his weight and looks on with interest. What the hell is he finding so interesting? My reaction to it? Shit, of course. I just played right into his hands. Well, I don’t care. I’m gonna rip him a new one like I’ve been fantasizing about since I read the damn thing.

I smooth out the crumpled note and read: “This is a mistake. Forget me. Sorry about last night.”

I look up at him for his reaction, but there isn’t any hint of remorse. No I’m sorry look. Why am I so surprised? I know the guy is a player. A big time womanizer. I knew it even before I got my hands on his phone last night. After he’d told me his name, I’d checked him out on Google.

I’m not sure womanizer even covers it. Of course he’s reacting like this. He doesn’t give a fuck. And it bothers me. A lot. That’s the unnerving part. I don’t want it to bother me as much as it is. And I hate him for making me care like this. I told him to stay away for this precise reason. I didn’t want to get attached. Nothing can happen here. I know that. I’ve tried it time and time again, but someone with my issues can’t sustain any sort of relationship.

Hell, I barely have any friendships—just a couple of friends who I email now and again. It’s too hard for me to maintain contact. The phone is out of the question. I just have one for emergencies. I can’t actually call anyone on it. Talking on the phone is…it’s too much. With email I can prepare what I’m going to say in advance and make sure my email is perfect before I send it. With a phone call, it can’t be controlled like that. I hate it. And don’t get me started about meeting any of my said friends in person.

“You don’t get to pull the shit you did last night and then be the one who walks away!” I thunder. “If anyone’s walking away, it’s me! Do you hear me, playboy? Consider this my verbal note.”

His eyes widen, clearly stunned by my outburst. “Wow. You really hate not being the one in control.”

It catches me off guard. It’s not what I was expecting him to say at all. “What?” I stumble.

His expression shifts then, his eyes gentle as he asks, “How are you here? I thought you never leave your house?”

“I…uh....” I struggle. How am I here? “You made me mad!” I blurt out.

He smiles and looks away, nodding to himself as if he understands something that I don’t. “Interesting,” he says, his eyes meeting mine once again.

Interesting? Oh no. No way. “Don’t you dare.”

He seems genuinely confused. His eyes search mine for some sort of answer.

“I’ve seen that look a thousand times,” I tell him.

He shakes his head as he closes the distance between us again. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, angel.”

“Don’t try to fix me.”

He looks wounded by my suggestion. “I would never,” he says, with a gentle half-smile.

Something about the way he says it, mixed with the look on his face, gets to me. Somehow I know he’s being genuine. He means it. Everyone I’ve ever met has tried to fix me and that’s no exaggeration. I’ve been berated too many times for the way I am that now I’m so incredibly defensive about it. And the fact that he’s making no move to do that, affects me more than I thought possible.

Before I can stop myself and question it, I grab the back of his head and pull him down to my lips, capturing him in a sudden kiss.

There’s no slow, soothing build up this time.

He responds fiercely, his tongue plundering my mouth and stealing my breath. A warning bell goes off in my head. He’s taking control. No. no. I’m in control, not him.

He lifts my hat off my head and tosses it onto one of the leather couches. He does the same with my sunglasses.

“Much better. Now I can really see you,” he says.

He slams me into the wall. He grabs my hands and yanks them up above my head, holding me captive as his mouth devours mine with an unrestrained animal passion.

I buck against him, trying to break his grip.

“Dan,” I gasp out, “Not like this.”

“Yes, angel. I’m in control,” he whispers in my ear, before licking his way down my neck, his tongue leaving a trail of warm, wet heat in its wake that sends a shiver of excitement all the way to my core.

Oh God. I can’t fight him on the control thing now. What he’s doing to me feels too damn good. I don’t want to stop him. I don’t want it to end.

“You taste amazing,” he breathes. “Like coconut.”

I want to tell him that it’s my body wash, but there isn’t time for thought right now, for explanations. I’m utterly consumed by him, by us. The intensity that we create together is out of this world. He rolls his hips, grinding against me as he reclaims my mouth in a bruising kiss that brands me with its smoldering heat. I can feel his hard length through his towel and my clothes.

Suddenly he releases my hands and his own slide under my sweater.

I gasp as his fingers trace a path up my stomach, all the way to my bra. He moans appreciatively as he brushes the black lace. He pushes up the cups and I cry out at the skin-to-skin contact. Both hands knead my breasts gently, but firmly. He has the perfect touch. Oh my God. His hands are rough and callused, which surprises me, because I’d had him pegged for a white collar desk guy, but clearly I don’t know the whole story as these belong to someone who works with his hands. The friction they create against my breasts is exquisite torture and as the pads of his thumbs graze my nipples, I’m completely gone. I’m his. I have only one thought: I need him even closer.

His hands leave me then, withdrawing from my sweater and I can’t help a whimper of protest at the awful loss of contact.

He chuckles, before he grips my thighs tightly, almost painfully. “Patience, angel.”

In the next moment, his hands are under my skirt, gliding up my thighs. I’m breathing in rapid bursts now, unable to contain myself as his fingers move closer and closer to my pussy. Yes, touch me!

He hooks his fingers into my panties and jerks them roughly down my legs.

He stops and lifts my right leg, pulling my boot off. He does the same with the left and then slides my panties all the way down to my ankles. I kick them off my feet.

I’m so caught up in this haze of sensation overload that I barely even register that he’s dropped to his knees until I feel his hot breath on my bare, shamefully exposed pussy.

His tongue delves between my folds and strokes me with one tantalizing slow lick along my slit, over my clit and back down again. Over and over again. I can hear myself screaming, feel my entire body vibrating with pleasure. His strokes change to quick, darting licks and my legs buckle. He chuckles against my pussy and grasps my hips, holding me steady against the wall with barely any effort. He circles my clit then, teasing me and then he slips a finger inside me.

“Oh…shit…yes!” I whimper, throwing my head back in rapture.

He struggles to add another finger, taking his time, working my pussy until he manages it.

“Fuck me, you’re tight.”

“Eighteen months,” I manage to respond.

He looks up at me, his eyes wide with disbelief as he pumps his fingers in and out of me in a scissoring motion that is both painful and deliciously pleasurable as he stretches me.

My revelation seems to spur him on and he withdraws his fingers. “That’s it. I can’t wait. I need to fuck you. Now,” he says, rising from his knees.

I am out of my mind, so lost in a reverie of pleasure that all I can do is nod.

The ferocious, primal look in his fiery eyes sends a thrill through me; a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

I’m vaguely aware of him tossing his towel away, but I don’t even get the chance to see his dick, before I feel it under my skirt, right at my entrance. He rubs it all over my pussy, coating himself in my juices. And then he buries himself inside me in one hard thrust.

I cry out in surprise.

Fuck. I can feel the burn. It’s been too long. How big is he? I feel like he’s ripping me apart, stretching my walls to their breaking point.

“Oh, fuck. Shit,” I choke out.

He reads me well and stills for a moment, allowing me to adjust to his size. “You’re way too tense. You need to relax.” He leans in and whispers seductively in my ear, “Relax for me, Emma. Let me take care of you.”

“It’s been…long,” I manage to eke out.

“I know, angel,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Let me in. Let me make you feel good.”

His left hand slips between us and he teases my clit. The pressure is intense and I’m already on the edge, so incredibly built up from having his tongue between my legs earlier, that I know I won’t last long.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard.”

“Yes,” I gasp.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

I’m finally relaxing. The burning subsides after a few moments and there’s just pleasure.

He feels it and then he really starts to move. He lets out a series of guttural, animalistic growls as he pounds into me with such ferocity that all I can do is take it as he slams me into the wall over and over again. I can’t move. I’m trapped by the force of his rapid, brutal thrusts.

And it’s absolutely amazing.

I’ve never been fucked like this before. Ever.

“Jesus Christ. The way your pussy grips my cock…fuck…I can’t hold it, babe,” he pants between thrusts as he continues to pound into me. “Come for me,” he commands. “Come for me now.”

The part of me that craves control wants to deny him and tell him that I’ll climax when I’m ready. But who am I kidding? I’m not in control of my own body right now.

He pinches my clit hard and I’m gone, free-falling over the edge into absolute, no-holds-barred ecstasy. I hear a ferocious scream and I realize it’s me. Fuck. My orgasm seems to last forever. My entire body is trembling, thrashing.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Grip me, babe,” he grits out.

He curses wildly and calls out my name as he explodes spectacularly, coming deep inside me.

He slumps against me, his head buried in my shoulder as we both fight to catch our breath.

And then he suddenly jerks his head back.

The look on his face sends a painful ice-cold shiver through me and I suddenly realize what he’s going to say before he even has the chance to open his mouth.

Oh no. No, no, no. How could we have been so stupid?

I cry out as he pulls out of me too quickly and mutters, “Shit, I didn’t use a condom. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He eyes me and says, pleadingly, “Please tell me you’re on the pill.”

I grimace, shaking my head. It seems naïve and stupid now, but I’ve gone months without being with a man and I’d planned on keeping it that way, because of my issue. I just didn’t see him coming into the picture. Shit.

He must see through my bravado and know I’m freaking out just beneath the surface, because he cups my face in his hands and gives me a reassuring smile, as he says in a deadly serious tone, “Angel, I’m clean and I’ve always used a condom. Always. You’re the first…you’re the first time I’ve fucked up.”

Dazed, I can only nod.

He pulls away and snatches his towel up off the floor. Before I know what’s happening it’s between my legs and he’s wiping away his cum that’s already trickling down my legs. My breath catches in my throat at the unbelievably caring, tender gesture.

When he’s done, he balls up the towel and then kisses my forehead softly. “Go take a shower, angel. I need to make a call. I’ll take care of this, okay? Do you trust me?”

Although we haven’t known one another long at all, somehow I do. I really do trust him.

“Yes,” I croak.

He kisses me again, this time chastely on my lips and then he wraps his arm around me and leads me out of the living room and down the hall towards the bathroom.